#captain allen headacanons

[spacemilkies]

serendipity || captain allen x reader

for @thedevianthunterrk800 who unknowingly dragged me into the pits of hell dau. now i can’t play or watch footage without focusing in on this man. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am but no press are allowed on the premise without strict permission.”

The accusation nearly stuns you at first, before you realize in fact that you never quite shed your work clothing before venturing out. Not that it did much good now that you were caught red handed, you plucked your badge from you neck and offered a placating smile to the receptionist android.

“Sorry, I’m here on personal business not journalistic ventures.” As if to prove your point, you rose the hand clutching the bag of take out. “Just a wife bringing dinner to her husband.”

The android was quiet, her gaze giving you another look over. No doubt cross referencing your heart rate to your words. Perhaps had your husband not been employed at such a high risk job, a simple face recognition scan could have cleared you. But it seemed not even matrimony came with any real civil benefits. 

The android completed its assessment.

“I see. Please-”

“Hey, what are you doing here so late?”

A visible shudder of relief ripped across your skin as you whipped around. Appearing to be finishing up for the evening, Hank was looked about what you expected him to look first thing in the morning- ready to go home.

It’s easy to offer a smile in disguise of pity. “Figured if he wasn't going to make an effort for dinner, I could at least keep him from starving.”

“Yeah, is that why he’s so cranky? Missing one too many meals?”

Hank’s years of ‘facility’ comradery with your husband managed to bleed into a promising friendship of your own. It was a specific type of working relationship that only your hardened husband could achieve. Frankly most of his more social interactions were bridged by your efforts in some way or fashion. 

“Trying to keep him fed is a full time job.”

“Dealing with him period is a fucking career,” he muttered under his breath. Gratefully, Hank waved off the android. “Wife of the fucking SWAT captain, relax would you.”

“I honestly have no idea where he is but we all know his second wife is his desk.”

The obvious joke resonated differently with you than he likely intended for it to. In truth, your husband, his desk … and yourself had a bit of a polymourous relationship, to put it lightly. Not that you would embarrass David by bringing that up now. 

Maybe over drinks on night. 

Grateful for the unexpected intervention, you took advantage of the reprieve to escape through the security gates while you could. Waving to Hank, you bid him a good night.

“The fourth floor isn’t that big. He can’t hide forever.”

The few officers who did recognize you bid you a mix of greetings and farewells from those eager to return to their own families. As you climbed levels however, the gestures became more strict in the form of salutes and slim smiles that oozed stress. 

Rolling your eyes to the roof of the elevator, you began to pray that it wasn't a premonition of what to expect when you finally discovered your husband. You reminded yourself that you were merely there to deliver a meal, not stir up anything that could be settled at home. 

Your marriage worked this long because you respected those boundaries. The same ones that had been built without your knowledge back in university. 

By the relaxed posture of his assistant it was safe to assume he wasn’t in his office. Rachel confirmed as much with a quick wave.

“Captain Allen is in a meeting, ma’am.”

“Thats fine. Is his office open? Just dropping off dinner.”

She eyed the bag as if it was a saving grace. No doubt a prayer she’d made earlier in the day to try and aleve whatever symptoms were aggravating her boss’ nerves. 

If only it was so easy.

“I can get that for you.”

The panel in front of the door switches from red and blue, granting you access. You find yet another reason to send the young woman a nice gift basket. As if all the years of putting up with your husband didn’t earn her a vacation overseas.

Frankly, she might never look back.

“Thank you, Nancy.”

His office is as bleak and bland as the last time you’d entered it. Not even the wealth of his awards managing to permeate the walls. A few of the important credentials made the cut out of sheer necessity. You’d managed to break up the rest of the wall with two scenery photos. 

And that was it.

For someone who practically made his office his home, the lack of comfortably baffled you.

Placing the bags on the corner of his desk, you made yourself comfortable in his chair. Your job title aloe made snooping both enticing and forbidden. A thin lace of trust had been bestowed upon you given your connection to one of the largest media networks in the city. While your husband’s authority gave you more liberties than most it didn’t mean it couldnt be ripped away.

So against your journalist instinct, you kept your hands to yourself while you twiddled with a simple app on your phone. Fortunately, your husband didn’t keep you waiting long before you heard Nancy sharp cry of warning.

“Oh! Wait sir, your-”

You don’t know who is more surprised when you husband enters his office unaware. His shoulders stiffen briefly before he recognizes your silhouette by his desk, Nancy’s warning long forgotten. He looked like he was ready to chew out his next victim of the day and you could only snort in amusement. 

“Really, David.”

He’s wearing your favorite hoody of his- one you know come with a plethora of replacements but not a single is ever given to you despite your insistence. You’ve taken to wearing them briefly after laundry loads, while the house is to yourself. By the time he makes it home, its nestled comfortably in his drawer as if it was never touched. 

A secret compromise.

The door slides shut behind him as he approaches the desk. Affections pleasantly not forgotten as he leans down to peck at your cheek,“Its late, you didn't have to come by.”

“Well, I was hungry too. Figured you wouldn't want your food to get cold. Reheating meat will sometimes make it tough.”

David took the opportunity to peek into the paper bags, a hint of a smile triggering wider one for you when he recognized one of his favorites. You watched quietly as he unpacked the food, not missing how he arranged things carefully to keeps your safely confined while setting aside his own. 

It was an easier dismissal when you were expecting it. 

The hard edge of your neglected badge bit into your skin as you adjusted yourself against the desk, “Trying to get rid of me so soon, captain. I didn’t even get to opportunity to ask my questions yet.”

Unraveling the warmth of a freshly baked roll, your husband gave you an unamused grimace before taking a bite from the buttery loaf. 

“The SWAT team is not currently accepting any questions nor has any scheduled plans to council the press for ongoing operations.”

Your smile is as dangerous as your job implies, “So you guys are working on something top secret.”

“Would be home if it wasn’t.”

That was a lie and you both knew it. David would always find something to keep him occupied in his career. It had built him up and functioned as his stability. You were mere crutches on the sidelines waiting until you were needed.

As simple as it would be to challenge the claim, you thought better of it. Instead you continued to eat up time, relaxed comfortably in his chair while your husband was distracted with his meal. It seemed that his hunger had gotten to a point where he was reluctant to entertain anything that isn't satisfying his stomach. 

“Strip was sold out, so I hope skirt is okay?” 

Your husband wasn’t huge on grilling like some of the neighbors in your area but he did appreciate a good steak. Sometimes if you were lucky, he would even surprise you with a nice dinner in the kitchen on the rare occasions he actual beat you home or the scarcer days off. 

Using his teeth, David fought the crackle of the plastic wrapped utensil set,” Smells good, baby. Thank you.”

His obvious appreciation warmed you enough to coax a bit of boldness out of you. Walking your fingertips closer to the bag, you tugged it closer. “The renovators called back. They can fit us in next weekend to resurface the shower.”

Your house wasn’t old but there had been some changes you’d promised yourself when you’d first moved it. Earlier in your marriage, you had hoped to make a couples project out of it. But as the years passed, you began to understand that if you didn't  get someone else on the job it wasn't going to get done. 

Carefully pulling your own box free, you kept your voice even as your poked through your meal. “I’m having my mom come meet them that Thursday so they can do a final walkthrough for a quote. I’ll be home for the other days.”

“You’re not worried she won't change your plans?”

Twirling your pasta around your fork, you gave his question a thoughtful pause. It had crossed your mind. Your home wasn’t the first thing she had tried to intervene in. But you had made your own wishes noted in the initial meeting. Having your mother there was just supervision at this point.

“Nah, I'll be there for all the real work. I really just need her to keep Kaius calm.”

Retired from service but certainly not an impression on his age, the eight year old shepard still took his training seriously at home. It made it difficult to let anyone into the house without one of you there to assure him it was okay. The task was still difficult for you without David’s overwhelming presence to settle the canine. 

Resting his hip against the corner of the desk, your husband became visibly more relaxed into the conversation as he balanced the bottom of his togo box on his hand. “I don’t mind if he comes to work. He should be fine in my office for a day.”

You shrugged,”It's all worked out.”

At most, you were expecting one human to supervise a few androids. As impersonal as it made the job, it certainly didnt put a damper on efficiency. You expected nothing less than the projected project. 

He surprised you by leaning in then to press a quick kiss to your lips, a sneaky swipe of tongue catching the splash of sauce previously unknown to you. When you look up, he was watching you with that analytical look.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Caught, you could only smile sheepishly as you pointed the fork in his direction. “This is nice, don’t ruin it.”

Humming thoughtfully, your husband eventually returned to his own meal. 

David finished well before fullness crept in for you, his own haste favoring time over taste. But he was getting his nutrition so you found it hard to complain. 

A few tedious comments came to mind but none of them felt strong enough to tether him to a conversation. Accepting the time you got gratefully, you began putting away the leftovers to take home. 

“I’m off tomorrow so you don’t need to tip toe. I’ll leave the light on above the stove.”

Sometimes you found it funny how much your friends raves about the life you must have being married to a SWAT captain. Overwhelmed by their own fantasies of rugged encounters and frantic passion. 

It was true on occasion. There were times  that the stress of the job encouraged his hands to be a little more rough. Or time constraints found you bent over something convenient with your panties jerked to the side. 

As thrilling as it was, the novelty wore off quicker than it did in literature. 

There wasn’t a day you weren’t thankful of how well your husband aged, you just wanted more opportunities to appreciate it. 

You rise from your seat, expecting a final kiss of gratitude before you went on your way. 

You hasn’t realized your eyes had slid closed until they were opening in confusion at the touch of his thumb against your cheek. Against your better judgement, you leaned into the brief show of affection, lips parting to accept the pad of his finger. 

You know it won’t lead to much but the small stirrings it causes is worth the brevity. You crave his closeness whether he’s away like any wife would. But loving David Allen takes the punch of out love and jackhammers a new meaning into it. 

“”Thank you.”

The sincerity of it pressures your heart and your eyes close voluntarily this time, just wishing he would meet your expectation.

There is a pause, the silence tarnished by your audible sigh. Part of it is drawn back in a sharp gasp when his nose bumps against your own, then his lips find yours. 

The kiss is slow and measured, familiar even as you dare to run your palms down his front. His stomach curls under your touch, the lean muscle jumping slightly as your fingers challenge the hem of his pants. 

Swallowing, you taunt further with another tug. Venerability paints itself a lovely shade against your skin, coating you in a rosy blush. This wasn’t your arriving plan. But years have taught you that planning ahead rarely went well with David.

Carefully, you reach up and thumb the curve of his lower lip and draw him even closer. Even breaths waft over your face. Measured well, despite the proposition offered before him. 

In a mess of tongue and teeth, you whisper his name and teeter his resolve in the same breath. 

It has been a very long time since he’s humored an excursion like this and you’re patting yourself on the back for taking the chance. 

His mouth teases the skin at the nape of your neck and you wonder how far he plans to take this. His nose brushes against your ear next, nuzzling just under the curve where he knows you like it best. 

Your shirt rides up as he rolls his body against you, his hands quick to tend to your warm skin. His thumb teases the underside of your bra and it’s difficult not to let your mind wander.

Chest rising and falling in erratic intervals, you finally put a voice behind your desires. 

“Will fuck me here?”

David breathes in sharply then and for a moment you’re worried he’ll pull back to he senses. Your heart flutters nervously, awaiting a curt dismissal. But then a knee nudges firmly between your thighs and you find yourself biting your cheek to contain your grin. 

He continues to mouth at your neck while his hands answer your question, quickly and efficiently working at your belt. The hand not holding you in place slips under the hem of your pants with practiced ease. 

It will have to be quick but part of the thrill is inherit in the act itself. You know you’re already wet before his fingers reach their destination, his thumb flicking against your clit as his fingers curl into your sticky wetness. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, kitten? That’s why you came so late at night. Hoping to bride me into a quick fuck for your troubles?”

Part of you wished that had been your intention. You would have tried a hell of a lot harder if you’d known he’d be this willing. 

Sorry, Nancy.

There was always something sinfully dangerous about being taken in his office. To think the place where the city puts most of its trust will be defiled by your marital affairs will never fail to get you in the mood. 

David catches you before you can get careless, moving the food a safe distance away from your body before pressing you firmer against the desk. He doesn’t pay much attention to your breast but the stimulation from being pressed into the desktop makes up for it. Nothing else matters however when he’s dragging down his pants and your own with hast movements and lining himself up. 

It’s a slow sink- deep as he allows you time to open up for him. 

The situation doesn’t allow for it to be drawn out much longer than that. The frivolous teasing prior had already eaten into your limited time of unsuspicion. Not to mention any concerning noises that might permeate the door.

David does the sound control for you, risking quiet grunts as he digs his grip into the curve of your hip. His pace is slow but firmly backed by his weight as he quite literally fucks the air right out of your lungs, thrust near hard enough to shake the desk. 

He lifts his hips slightly, just enough too prod for the right angle, hitting that same spot again and again as you grip desperately at his arms. You return the favor, stealing his groans as you kiss back as vehemently as his hips grind into you. It only takes one good strategic thrust to capsize you under your simmering climax.

You remember a time, fumbling in college when you had to remind him to be wary- to pull out. Even early in your marriage you’d been cautious. 

Now, it was welcomed. The fact of not trying to try bleeding into a kink to take off the edge of pending results. You’d decided mutually to accept a child if the possibility arose but you wouldn’t make an intentional effort. 

Nearing your forties now, it wasn’t a forgotten proposition but it hardly factored into your mindset. It’s no where near innocent as your ankles dig firmly into his lower back, drawing him closet and locking him in.

Your husband’s hips stuttered briefly as his fingers reassessed their grip before he resumed his pace with firmer thrusts. Each one bouncing off the round of your backside. The hand at the base of your spine keeps you anchored- not that you’d made any attempt to disagree with anything he was giving you. 

He seemed to reward you for that, a lazy thumb counting your vertebrae in its travels, eliciting a quivering pleasure.  

“Maybe this is the key, huh? You’re always so much more receptive when there is the potential for audience.” 

He knows and fuck, you miss that voice. The way it rumbles deep in his chest before tumbling out in timber. 

“Of course, I’d never let them see. But I’d be happy to show off the results, hmm?”

His hands slid to your flank before curling around to flatten against the plane of your belly. It stays there, stroking the pseudo curve implanted in his head. 

He encourages you to grind back into his quickening thrusts, the fingers at your hip dragging you back in assistance. Whining, you dip your chest and arch your back. Your actions echo your thoughts. Faster. More. Deeper. Please

“That's what you want, right? For me to fill you up, baby?”

God… you drool around the thought. Your words fumbling around gurgles as you attempt to collect yourself enough to stop moaning and properly respond. Blood rushed in your ears and floods down your body. Working yourself up from your toes, you flex them, pushing your weight to your feet and lifting. It offers you a better advantage to pushing back into each eager thrust. 

Rather than praise your efforts, your husband only returns your gesture by carding his fingers through your hair. Tightening. Shoving down. 

“Fuck, yes, Dav-“ You hiss when he knocks particularly hard against your cervix to which he mends with an apologetic kiss to the back of your head. His thrust slow marginally, just enough to regain control before he’s coaxing you again with a nip to the shell of your ear. 

“Tell me, kitten.”

You reach for something-not sure of what. Neither does he it seems, but his hand finds yours anyway to which you curl them both the fabric of your chest. 

“I want it all-please.”

He jerks you back-once...twice before suddenly you’re overwhelmed with the weight of him on top and the pressure of him inside. 

You lie there for a short time, uncomfortable, but too laced by exhaustion to do much else. The feeling of fatigue crept onto you both with out warning, using the disguise of passion to worm its way inside.

He’s not perfect. Neither yourself or this marriage. But where most had doomed you both to fail, mutual perseverance told the rest to go fuck themselves.

There wasn’t much else either of you could offer to the remaining hours of the night. With that resolve, your slow rhythmic strokes against your husband’s back came to a halt, slightly rousing him in the process.

“Mhmm, come home with me, yeah?”

He heaves a sigh but you know you have him. 

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”